


Our First Thanksgiving

by DaniPayson



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniPayson/pseuds/DaniPayson
Summary: Just a little story about Mulder & Scully's first Thanksgiving together while in hiding in 2002.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 15





	Our First Thanksgiving

November 28th, 2002  
One-hundred and ninety-two days.  
One-hundred and ninety-two days since I had left my home, my job…my family.  
One-hundred and eighty days since I ran into an old college friend while picking up groceries in Albuquerque and realized my look had to dramatically change.  
One-hundred and seventy-nine days since the red locks I had become so accustomed to in my thirty-eight years on the planet, were dyed a golden blonde.  
One-hundred and sixty-six days since we met up with an old friend of The Lone Gunman, had new photos taken and were given new identities.  
One-hundred and sixty-five days since I became Sarah Marshall, husband of Michael Marshall and with our new identities given a gold ring to wear on my left finger. The ring fit perfectly, but was only for show.  
Fifty-eight days since we settled on staying in the French quarter of New Orleans after finding a nice one-bedroom condo with a balcony that overlooked Canal St.  
Mulder, now Michael Marshall, left in the early morning to get some last minute items for our first Thanksgiving together. As I sat on the balcony, wearing a long black sweater dress and jeans that were getting a bit tight from all the beignets and late nights on Bourbon street where no one asked your name and no one even cared that you came. The streetcar arrived at the light and after taking a sip of my English breakfast tea I took a moment to think about what I was thankful for.  
I was alive.  
I was healthy.  
And aside from the fact I missed my mother and brothers and this would be the first Thanksgiving I would not see them, I was thankful that I wasn’t alone.  
I tried not to think about William, but watching a woman get off the Streetcar and struggle to put her young child in the stroller, the pain that hit me every time I saw a young child hit, and it hit hard.  
We could try again, and we had, but apparently miracles don’t happen twice.  
The child, clearly a little boy, screamed as his mother belted him in and his cries went straight to my heart. Unable to look at them any longer, I got up from the patio table and went back into my home, shutting the glass door as a way to shut out the pain.  
There was antique mirror I had found at a thrift store a couple weeks after moving in which I had stupidly placed on the wall facing the glass doors of the patio. My blonde hair pulled in a high bun, dark reddish brown roots along my hairline reminding me that a trip to the salon for a touch up was due, and tears I didn’t even realize had fallen, streaming down my cheeks.  
Walking into the kitchen, after tossing the tea bag into the compost bin – Mulder had become quite the environmentalist in the last few months – I placed the You Are My Sunshine mug Mulder had found at the 99 Cent Store in Scottsdale, in the empty sink before wiping the tears off my face.  
The smell of the turkey Mulder had placed in the oven before running to the grocery store just around the corner on Royal Street, had taken over our five-hundred and forty square foot home. The bag of Yukon Gold potatoes sat on the counter waiting to be mashed with the milk he had run to the store to pick up. In a search of something to do with his free time, Mulder started watching old cooking shows. Julia Child and Martha Stewart would whip up something tasty in under an hour and he’d then run to the store to recreate it while I sat on the couch scribbling in a notebook about the wild adventures of outlaws Duke and Daisy as they did the best they could to avoid being caught.  
Our real life played into a lot of my story; along with our sex life, which had become another way to kill time.  
Since the end of May when I started a journal as a way to occupy myself, I had filled up five college ruled, seventy page spiral bound notebooks; front and back.  
We didn’t have computers, Mulder was too afraid of getting the internet, so my only way to write was the old fashioned way with a notebook and a blue Bic pen. We still weren’t even comfortable with cell phones which was ok given Mulder always seemed to lose or forget his anyway. When we got our new identities, Mulder deposited nine-thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine dollars into a new bank account – the most you can deposit without triggering the IRS. His money was clean, as his father – well, the man he assumed was his father – left him a large inheritance when he passed away in 1995. Money would never be an issue for us, but before he went underground the year before, he cashed out a few bonds totaling close to one-hundred-thousand dollars and that is what he lived on before we were reunited. Most of the cash was kept in a small safe he kept in a black duffle bag – as unsafe as that could be, it was the only way – which he retrieved from the storage unit he left all his belongings the day the black helicopters chased us into hiding. Every year, he would deposit that same amount until we knew it would be save to come out of hiding.  
In June, on what was my mother’s fifty-eighth birthday, I sent her a card. No return address, but just a simple card and letter letting her know I was ok and I would see her again. I never knew if she even got the card, but in my heart I had to believe she had.  
Sitting on the small burgundy couch we had also found at the same antique store as the mirror, I picked up my sixth spiral bound notebook which was already half filled, and retrieved the pen I had shoved in the spiral for safe keeping and finally decided I needed to add another character to the lives of Duke and Daisy; their little boy, Jake.  
Taking a deep breath, as the smell of the cooking turkey overwhelmed my senses, I began to feverishly write about little Jake; a one-year old boy with auburn hair running on the beach. They were currently living in a small house on the beach of Bora Bora - a country we could not get to by car, but Duke and Daisy…and now Jake…had found their way onto a cruise ship from San Diego to Bora Bora and decided to stay there. In Bora Bora, Daisy and Duke spent their days swimming in their private pool or building sand castles with their young son. In Bora Bora, Daisy and Duke had everything they could have wanted. As the words left my pen, and the images of a life I dreamed of filled my head, I felt the tears began to fall. As I described my son’s bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks, the tears fell on the paper, smearing my words before the pain became too great and I tossed the notebook on the cherry wood coffee table before pulling my legs up against my chest and allowing myself to sob.  
The front door opened at what had to be the worst time as Mulder returned to our home, “What’s wrong?” I heard him ask as he closed the door and locked it behind him.  
As he had seen me break down more than once in the last six months I was sure he already knew what was wrong, but he still needed to ask.  
Removing my head from my knees, I looked up at him as he placed the canvas bags on the counter of our small kitchen and simply shrugged, “Same pain, different day.”  
Nodding, in the same sad way he always had, Mulder opened one of the bags and pulled out a carton of two-percent milk he then placed in the refrigerator before checking on his turkey.  
“I picked up a couple of bottles of shiraz.” He said, “As well as a pecan pie for dessert because I just don’t even want to attempt that yet; the turkey was hard enough.”  
I was happy he had returned so quickly into my mini-breakdown as I was grateful for the distraction from my current heartache. Getting up from the small couch, I walked into the kitchen and as his back was to me, I wrapped my arms around his firm chest and snuggled my head against his back. Taking in the smell of the turkey, the Gain fresh meadows on his grey sweater and of him. My eyes closed, I remembered what I was thankful for and in this very moment I was thankful for Fox Mulder.  
“I’d love to stand here like this all day, but I really need to get the potatoes in the pot.” Mulder said as he patted my hands.  
Nodding, I released him from my hold before he turned around and gave me a quick peck on my forehead. Given I was only wearing white wool socks, my forehead was easier for him to reach.  
“Is there any way I can help?” I said watching as he dumped some potatoes into a colander, then rinsed my mug before placing it on the top rack of the dishwasher.  
“I’m really a one man army here, Scul…Sarah.” He said as we were trying to get used to using our new names, but it continued to be a struggle. “Why don’t you watch the parade?”  
Most of our furniture was old, from the couch to the coffee and end tables, but Mulder HAD to buy a twenty-inch Sony Trinitron TV. We didn’t have cable, but the rabbit ears did a good job of getting us the basic channels we needed. Doing all we could to not have our fake names on any kind of utility bill we were lucky to find an condo where all utilities were included in the rent, which was the only check Mulder wrote every month. We didn’t watch much TV, but did have a VCR with a few movies we had found at various stores. After six months you’d think I’d be sick of watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Die Hard, but it was kind of fun being able to recite them word for word.  
“OH!” Mulder exclaimed as I turned on the TV to see the parade had already started, “I found a movie in the bargain bin.” He said opening one of the other canvas bags and pulling out a tape he then tossed at me – which I thankfully caught.  
Looking at the shrink wrapped cassette in my hand I rolled my eyes.  
“Caddyshack.” I said placing it on top of the VCR.  
“It does bring back some very memorable…memories.” He snickered before grabbing a bag of fresh cranberries out of the same bag, “I couldn’t resist.”  
“Memories of our old life.” I replied picking up my notebook and looking at the smeared ink before closing it.  
“What have Duke and Daisy gotten themselves into this time?” He asked as he emptied the cranberries into a second pot on the stove.  
“I introduced a new character.” I said clutching the red notebook tightly.  
Not having to ask, Mulder crossed his arms and looked directly at me, “Are you sure that’s a good idea.”  
“Would it be better to pretend he never existed?”  
“No, I’m not saying that, I would never say that or think that, but …three weeks ago.”  
“That was one incident. One very confused little boy in the Target shoe section who thought I was his mommy and, as I’m sure you recall, the woman who came and released him from me said his name was Jackson.”  
“And since that day you wake up nearly every night reliving that moment believing it was William.”  
“They’re just dreams.”  
“Sometimes a dream is an answer to a question we don’t know how to ask.” Mulder sighed before shrugging, “Whatever helps you cope.”  
Nodding I looked down at the notebook, “What I’m writing isn’t real. It’s a fantasy. We’re not living in a villa overlooking the lagoon of Bora Bora.”  
“Far from it.” Mulder said hanging the now empty bags on the hook by the front door, “We’re living in the French quarter where I walked by one man throwing up into a trash can, and another man receiving a blow job on a bench.” He shook his head before laughing a little, “I can’t wait for Mardi Gras.”  
By four pm, Mulder had beaten me for the hundredth time at chess – another antique store find and in his eight months underground Gibson Praise had taught him how to master the game – and I had bankrupted him with my hotel on Park Place. Board games – things we had never had time for in the past – were how we spent our days and some of our nights. It wasn’t the most exciting life, but I left that for Duke and Daisy who had narrowly escaped a shark attack on their wedding anniversary before making passionate love on the beach. This was clearly before I felt the need to bring Will, Jake, into the picture.  
While Mulder checked on his potatoes, brussel sprouts and cranberries, the parade played in the background. Barney the purple dinosaur amused children, while annoying adults. The cast of Hairspray performed You Can’t Stop the Beat and Matt Lauer looked a little extra creepy watching the Rockettes.  
My stomach growling, I snacked on cheese and crackers as Mulder finished the potatoes and cranberry sauce.  
“When is that bird going to pop?” I whined as the Ritz wasn’t doing anything for my hunger as I sat at our small dining table with two mismatched chairs and doodled kitty cat faces in the margins of the red notebook.  
“Soon.” He replied wiping his hands on his apron. Mulder in an apron. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to that.  
“Fine.” I said getting up from the table and seeing my disheveled appearance in the mirror, “I’m going to go take a shower.”  
“Ok.” Mulder replied from the kitchen as I made my way to our one bedroom with the one bathroom and looked at the clawfoot tub which made this the unit we HAD to rent and decided an afternoon bath may be more needed at this time.  
Relaxing in my cucumber and white tea bubble bath, I let my hair down before sliding my head under the water and lust lying there for a bit with my eyes firmly shut. I wasn’t suicidal, far from it, but sometimes I just needed to lie under water and wait for the need to emerge to come over me.  
When it did, at I sat up, gasping for air I realized I wasn’t alone.  
“Why do you do that?” the man standing next to the toilet asked me.  
This wasn’t the first time he caught me and my “need to emerge,” but it was the first time I saw so much pain and confusion on his face.  
“I wish I could explain.” I replied as the first time I had done it was my freshman year of college and I was so overwhelmed with classes and a part time job at the local diner that I felt I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and took a bath to calm myself. Getting in the tub, I had slipped and my head went under the water. Instead of immediately feeling the need to sit up, I lay there, eyes shut, feeling all the anxiety over my course load and the boy I was dating – who I knew was cheating on me - and the table of frat boys who left me a two dollar tip, just leave my body before I felt the overwhelming need to…breathe.  
“Well, the turkey popped.” He replied walking out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him.  
After washing my hair and blow drying the golden locks, I put on a nice red blouse and a grey skirt, along with black four-inch heals I hadn’t felt the need to wear in weeks, along with a little bit of lip gloss and mascara before walking into the living room where Mulder had placed the small turkey in the middle of the table before two place settings and two empty wine glasses. He had also changed into the one pair of black slacks he owned along with a crisp white dress shirt for the few times we actually went out on the town.  
The sun was starting to set, and the orange sky glowed outside the balcony windows.  
Smiling, Mulder pulled out my chair and after seating myself, he pushed it in a bit before picking up the wine bottle and corkscrew, “You know…”he said as he began to turn the silver handle on the corkscrew, “If you’re upset, or angry…you can tell me.” He said as I watched the cork emerge from the black bottle, “I can handle it.”  
“I’m not.” I replied as he removed the cork then placed it on the table next to the corkscrew before filling my glass halfway with the shiraz.  
“I know it’s been a difficult year.” He said as he brought the potatoes, brussel sprouts and cranberry sauce out to the table, “But I want you to know you can tell me anything.”  
Mulder picked up the bottle of wine and filled his glass before placing the glass back by his plate and picking the large knife and fork to cut the turkey, “And I know this is your first Thanksgiving without your family.”  
“You’re my family.” I replied placing my hand on his left wrist which held the large fork, “And I really am ok. I may break down at times, and feel the need to go under water…but I’ll always come up.” Looking at the gold ring on his finger, then the one on my own and hoping one day the marriage would be as real as the ring, I looked back at him and smiled, “I know this is only temporary and maybe in a year or so we can go home.”  
“You think the FBI will stop looking for me that fast?” he said as he began to carve into the turkey.  
“They probably already did.” I chuckled at myself as he placed some white meat on my plate.  
Picking up the spoon in the mashed potatoes, I placed a large dollop on my plate as Mulder did a bit more cutting before sitting down across from me.  
“Remember when I invited you to my family’s Thanksgiving?” I said as I added some grilled brussel sprouts next to my turkey.  
“The Scully Thanksgiving of 1999, I very much remember.” Mulder said as I handed the sprout bowl to him.  
“When Matthew had a temper tantrum and threw a roll at your head?”  
“Which I probably had coming. For an eleven-month old baby he had quite an arm.”  
“You were so patient with him.” I said picking up my glass, “It was that moment I knew you’d be a good father.”  
Mulder smiled and picked up his glass, “Well, maybe I’ll get a second shot one day.”  
His optimism was just what I needed in that moment and the overwhelming feeling of joy kept the tears from falling, “To second chances.” I said raising my glass.  
“Second chances.” He replied before our glasses clinked.


End file.
